Aunt Sandi reflects on a tough decision.
I admire mothers more than any other group.
It's a non-stop job from the moment your child is handed to you after birth and it never ends.
Long after you are gone, you live on in your children and their children. Stories about you will be told for generations, your precious possessions will be cherished by your descendants.
I made the toughest decision of my life in my early 30s.
I decided not to have any children.
My practice husband and I had always planned to wait until we were in our 30s to start a family and by the time we got there, our marriage was falling apart.
Most interestingly, our divorce had nothing to do with my decision.
Genetics did.
I had my first genetic panel done when I was 33, and that's when it was confirmed I have the gene that carries arthritis, asthma, allergies and multiple sclerosis and I had a 50/50 chance of passing it on.
In my mind I saw two scenarios, neither pretty.
First, my child would grow up with a sick mom. I had no way of guessing how sick I would get, but not being able to do things like pick them up or run and play on a playground was a hard one. Also, I had no way to gauge the toll pregnancy would take on my already battered body and damaged spine.
The clincher was the chance I'd have a baby who could develop one of the diseases on that gene. How do you explain to a two-year-old why they are in pain and if they would take this pill or that shot they would feel better?
One summer I spoke at a camp for children with rheumatoid arthritis so they could see that they too could have a fun job while dealing with this nasty disease. What got to me were the questions they asked me about the realities of living with arthritis.
"Did I cry when they stuck me with the needles for blood tests?"
"Did the people laugh at me when I fell asleep in class because I hadn't been able to sleep the night before?"
I showed them the big white dents in the crook of my arm and was able to give them some cold comfort: "After a few years of those blood tests, the nerves there will die and it won't hurt at all."
I told them not to be afraid to ask for help or to ride in a wheelchair when the pain was so bad.
After that visit, I thought about it a long time and finally decided to not roll those dice.
Though I don't have children of my own, I have nieces and nephews, both by blood and by love.
Perhaps because I have never had to truly grow up and take care of my own children, I am the go-to aunt for fun.
All my brothers' children have done some pretty cool things because Aunt Sandi pulled some strings. Once, a niece and nephew were the children picked from the audience to star in the pre-intermission extravaganza at a performance of Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus.
One niece went backstage at a Garth Brooks concert. Her brother met Brooks & Dunn.
Another has gone to movie screenings with me and another owns a personal message from Tigger himself, telling him to mind his parents and say his prayers before bed.
Every member of my family has personalized autographs from various movie stars, rock bands and other celebrities. They own merchandise from movies and concerts and have spent time sitting with me watching concerts while I write the review on my laptop. They were always cool about walking slower when I used a cane or to help carry things for me.
I love all my nieces and nephews, whether they're related to me or not and I cherish it when the one's who are not really related call me "Aunt Sandi" anyway.
I was able to do a lot of traveling and bring home cool things because I didn't have children of my own to worry about at home. Yes, many times it was a struggle to get myself home, but once there I didn't have to take care of a child before collapsing myself.
Still, I see parents with their children, creating memories and a tight-knit family while I watch on the outside.
My first husband remarried and now has children of his own. I am happy for him and enjoy hearing him tell me all about them. It's funny to me, but he tells them stories about me and the things I've done, so in a very modern way, I'm a member of their family too.
Now that I'm well past the age to have children, do I regret not doing it? Truthfully, not at all.
When I feel depressed I wonder what will happen to me when I can't take care of myself, if I will wind up in a nursing home, the lady with no visitors.
Better days I know I may wind up in a nursing home, but all my nieces and nephews will come visit because of all the stories I have about things I've done, and maybe because they consider me family.
Every person with any form of this disease will make this decision on their own, or it's already out of their hands. If they got sick after they had children, it's a moot point.
I know for many women, having children is an essential part of their lives and they are heroes to me, sick or well. I'm just glad so many of them have let me borrow their children from time to time so I could be "Aunt Sandi."
Sunday, August 11, 2013
I've Got Friends in Low Places
Like millions of other fans, I love Garth Brooks.
His career choices put his family first, which is a rare thing. He retired, moved back to Oklahoma, lives in a Tulsa suburb where he shared raising his daughters with his former wife, marrying country star Trisha Yearwood in the meantime.
While we both worked, I would do phone interviews that wound up in teasing and laughter.
He invited my husband and I to his big party to celebrate selling 100 million records, thank his song writers and everyone who had helped him get where he was.
I got a hand-written invitation to come to the party as a guest, not a reporter. My husband and I made the trip to Nashville where hubby wore a tuxedo and I wore a ball gown. We walked down a real red carpet, complete with photographers snapping pictures.
We each got a crystal memento of the evening.
Garth called me on my 50th birthday. I didn't know he knew when my birthday was.
After I left the paper, I pretty must dropped off the face of the earth for five years while my body and mind did some serious healing.
I started freelancing early in 2012, mostly for the newspaper I had worked for.
After the tornadoes hit May 19-20, I was busy writing about the storms, and then the company I work for sent me an e-mail asking me to call a number if I wanted to review the Blake Shelton benefit concert.
It was USA Today.
I was thrilled. My byline would be seen nationwide.
They e-mailed me again and asked if I would review Toby Keith's Twister Relief Concert in the football stadium at the University of Oklahoma.
I couldn't say yes fast enough.
Besides Toby, performers included Carrie Underwood, Willie Nelson, Ronnie Dunn, Mel Tillis, John Anderson, Wade Hayes, Kellie Coffey, the only rocker Sammy Hagar and my old friend, Garth Brooks with his wife, whom he calls Miss Yearwood.
For the show, all reporters were kept in the room the Oklahoma Sooners football team have their meetings. The artists were brought in to talk to us and we watched the show on big screen TVs with a direct sound feed from the stage.
Garth was at the show long enough to play. He had to return to Las Vegas to play a sold-out show that night.
I'll admit I've changed a lot in the last five years but when I looked Garth in the eye and asked a question, he answered it without recognizing me. I was a little hurt, but not surprised.
As his time with the press wound down, I walked up to Garth's publicist and asked her if I could say "Hi" to him. She smiled, and said yes.
As he walked by, she said his name and then, "Sandi would like to say hi."
He looked at me and the second the recognized me he grabbed me in the biggest bear hug and kissed my cheek. He couldn't believe I was there.
"I wondered how you were."
About this time his wife hugged me too, kissed my other cheek and said she was glad to see me too.
All of this happened in front of the entire press corps. If they didn't know who I was before then, they knew I was something special after that.
I knew I was something special after that.
I worked 14 hours that day, had one-on-one interviews with Ronnie Dunn and Sammy Hagar, which I'll write about later, but it did more for my self worth than anything has for years.
A long review ran on USA today's site on Sunday and a shorter version ran in Monday's Life section.
If you'd like to donate to , please go to www.unitedwayokc.org
His career choices put his family first, which is a rare thing. He retired, moved back to Oklahoma, lives in a Tulsa suburb where he shared raising his daughters with his former wife, marrying country star Trisha Yearwood in the meantime.
While we both worked, I would do phone interviews that wound up in teasing and laughter.
He invited my husband and I to his big party to celebrate selling 100 million records, thank his song writers and everyone who had helped him get where he was.
I got a hand-written invitation to come to the party as a guest, not a reporter. My husband and I made the trip to Nashville where hubby wore a tuxedo and I wore a ball gown. We walked down a real red carpet, complete with photographers snapping pictures.
We each got a crystal memento of the evening.
Garth called me on my 50th birthday. I didn't know he knew when my birthday was.
After I left the paper, I pretty must dropped off the face of the earth for five years while my body and mind did some serious healing.
I started freelancing early in 2012, mostly for the newspaper I had worked for.
After the tornadoes hit May 19-20, I was busy writing about the storms, and then the company I work for sent me an e-mail asking me to call a number if I wanted to review the Blake Shelton benefit concert.
It was USA Today.
I was thrilled. My byline would be seen nationwide.
They e-mailed me again and asked if I would review Toby Keith's Twister Relief Concert in the football stadium at the University of Oklahoma.
I couldn't say yes fast enough.
Besides Toby, performers included Carrie Underwood, Willie Nelson, Ronnie Dunn, Mel Tillis, John Anderson, Wade Hayes, Kellie Coffey, the only rocker Sammy Hagar and my old friend, Garth Brooks with his wife, whom he calls Miss Yearwood.
For the show, all reporters were kept in the room the Oklahoma Sooners football team have their meetings. The artists were brought in to talk to us and we watched the show on big screen TVs with a direct sound feed from the stage.
Garth was at the show long enough to play. He had to return to Las Vegas to play a sold-out show that night.
I'll admit I've changed a lot in the last five years but when I looked Garth in the eye and asked a question, he answered it without recognizing me. I was a little hurt, but not surprised.
As his time with the press wound down, I walked up to Garth's publicist and asked her if I could say "Hi" to him. She smiled, and said yes.
As he walked by, she said his name and then, "Sandi would like to say hi."
He looked at me and the second the recognized me he grabbed me in the biggest bear hug and kissed my cheek. He couldn't believe I was there.
"I wondered how you were."
About this time his wife hugged me too, kissed my other cheek and said she was glad to see me too.
All of this happened in front of the entire press corps. If they didn't know who I was before then, they knew I was something special after that.
I knew I was something special after that.
I worked 14 hours that day, had one-on-one interviews with Ronnie Dunn and Sammy Hagar, which I'll write about later, but it did more for my self worth than anything has for years.
A long review ran on USA today's site on Sunday and a shorter version ran in Monday's Life section.
If you'd like to donate to , please go to www.unitedwayokc.org
I tell stories for a living, and here are a few really good ones
I love interviewing people.
I enjoy asking them about things they've done and why they did them or how they did them and hear their stories.
Everyone has a few great stories, and I've got a few myself.
I told my reunion story with Garth Brooks at Toby Keith's Twister Benefit and I mentioned two other music stars I talked to that day.
Both Ronnie Dunn (formerly half of Brooks & Dunn and the one who sings on "My Maria") and Sammy Hagar (the Red Rocker himself, who also did time in Van Halen in the "Van Hagar" days) and I go way back and I love them both the way you love your mischievous friends.
Ronnie Dunn spent a lot of his life in Tulsa and we both were brought up strict Southern Baptists. We both discovered we had to make a choice between what we wanted to do and what the church wanted us to do and we both chose to leave our respective churches.
But that's where Ronnie learned to sing.
Actually, that's where most of the famous music stars from Oklahoma learn to sing -- in church. If it's in any water at all, it must be Holy Water.
I sat in a tiny room with Ronnie and as we talked (me writing furiously, him playing with my recorder) we both watched Garth thrill the sold-out show of 61,000 with his amazing stage presence and those songs.
Neither Ronnie nor I wanted to miss Garth playing a rare Oklahoma show and his very first in Norman.
Ronnie told me he sent two songs he wrote to Sammy Hagar for Sammy's upcoming duets album, and they did one, "Bad to Ford and Chevrolets." Ronnie has his own record label now, named after the statue of Willie Nelson he received in Texas for his songwriting talents. (Little Will-E/Warner Bros.). His new album "Kiss You There."
He's such a laid back guy that his humor can surprise you and you find yourself laughing as he slyly slides a joke into an answer.
Sammy Hagar now, is all rocker. I've had dinner with him and the members of Van Halen when they were on tour (I have the pictures somewhere but there's the problem of my mistake husband being in them that causes me to want to hurl when I seen them).
Before I left the paper, I had a one-on-one interview with Sammy in his dressing room before a sold-out show at an outdoor venue. I walked in to happy chaos. His wife was in there with their baby in a stroller. As Sammy and I sat down, she poured me some of Sammy new (then) Cabo Wabo Tequila in a WINE GLASS and Sammy cheerfully told me to just sip it. I asked where the lemon and salt was and he was shocked. I learned all about good tequila and that it can be sipped just like wine.
It could. It was wonderful.
So I did my interview with a drink in my hand (that's news to the paper, believe me) and we parted by me giving him one of my husband's custom guitar picks, and he pulled one out of his guitar to give back.
This time, I walked into another scene of organized chaos, but this time Sammy and his band were singing in full voice. I stood and listened, not recognizing the song but did know his wife and his much bigger daughter, who was in the floor coloring.
Sammy saw me and the singing stopped.
"I'm debuting a song today and we've never played it live," he explained. "I'm terrified."
The song was Ronnie Dunn's "Bad on Fords and Chevrolets" which Sammy said he de-countrified before they recorded the duet.
I assured him it sounded great and we sat on a sofa. I reminded him of the last time we met and the glass of tequila, and he laughed and said those days were over.
"I'm getting gout. Can you believe it? Gout? That's a form of arthritis you know."
Oh I do know. Before he starting talking about uric acid levels and dietary restrictions, I calmly told him I understood.
"I have RA, lupus, fibromyalgia and my spine looks like a toddler built it," I wisecracked, but it worked.
We talked about his new album "Sammy Hagar and Friends" due out Sept. 13. He duets "Margaritaville" with Toby Keith, whom he befriended on Toby's frequent trips to Cabo San Lucas and playing at Sammy club there.
It explained why Sammy was there.
We finished our interview with hugs and kisses (I got kissed on the hand when I arrived and on the cheek when I left).
The new tune is good. It's got a great hook and is a lot of fun, a lot like Sammy.
Much later in the evening, long after Toby had left the stage and the last firework explosion echo was long gone, I was wrapping up writing my story when a man walked in with a bunch of paper cups.
They were samples of Toby Keith's brand of Mescal, "Wild Shot."
Thinking, echoes of old days with Sammy, I snagged a glass. It was like the most tart lemonade you'll ever have but it was good, and a perfect way to end a memorable day.
And, it gave me some great stories to tell.
I enjoy asking them about things they've done and why they did them or how they did them and hear their stories.
Everyone has a few great stories, and I've got a few myself.
I told my reunion story with Garth Brooks at Toby Keith's Twister Benefit and I mentioned two other music stars I talked to that day.
Both Ronnie Dunn (formerly half of Brooks & Dunn and the one who sings on "My Maria") and Sammy Hagar (the Red Rocker himself, who also did time in Van Halen in the "Van Hagar" days) and I go way back and I love them both the way you love your mischievous friends.
Ronnie Dunn spent a lot of his life in Tulsa and we both were brought up strict Southern Baptists. We both discovered we had to make a choice between what we wanted to do and what the church wanted us to do and we both chose to leave our respective churches.
But that's where Ronnie learned to sing.
Actually, that's where most of the famous music stars from Oklahoma learn to sing -- in church. If it's in any water at all, it must be Holy Water.
I sat in a tiny room with Ronnie and as we talked (me writing furiously, him playing with my recorder) we both watched Garth thrill the sold-out show of 61,000 with his amazing stage presence and those songs.
Neither Ronnie nor I wanted to miss Garth playing a rare Oklahoma show and his very first in Norman.
Ronnie told me he sent two songs he wrote to Sammy Hagar for Sammy's upcoming duets album, and they did one, "Bad to Ford and Chevrolets." Ronnie has his own record label now, named after the statue of Willie Nelson he received in Texas for his songwriting talents. (Little Will-E/Warner Bros.). His new album "Kiss You There."
He's such a laid back guy that his humor can surprise you and you find yourself laughing as he slyly slides a joke into an answer.
Sammy Hagar now, is all rocker. I've had dinner with him and the members of Van Halen when they were on tour (I have the pictures somewhere but there's the problem of my mistake husband being in them that causes me to want to hurl when I seen them).
Before I left the paper, I had a one-on-one interview with Sammy in his dressing room before a sold-out show at an outdoor venue. I walked in to happy chaos. His wife was in there with their baby in a stroller. As Sammy and I sat down, she poured me some of Sammy new (then) Cabo Wabo Tequila in a WINE GLASS and Sammy cheerfully told me to just sip it. I asked where the lemon and salt was and he was shocked. I learned all about good tequila and that it can be sipped just like wine.
It could. It was wonderful.
So I did my interview with a drink in my hand (that's news to the paper, believe me) and we parted by me giving him one of my husband's custom guitar picks, and he pulled one out of his guitar to give back.
This time, I walked into another scene of organized chaos, but this time Sammy and his band were singing in full voice. I stood and listened, not recognizing the song but did know his wife and his much bigger daughter, who was in the floor coloring.
Sammy saw me and the singing stopped.
"I'm debuting a song today and we've never played it live," he explained. "I'm terrified."
The song was Ronnie Dunn's "Bad on Fords and Chevrolets" which Sammy said he de-countrified before they recorded the duet.
I assured him it sounded great and we sat on a sofa. I reminded him of the last time we met and the glass of tequila, and he laughed and said those days were over.
"I'm getting gout. Can you believe it? Gout? That's a form of arthritis you know."
Oh I do know. Before he starting talking about uric acid levels and dietary restrictions, I calmly told him I understood.
"I have RA, lupus, fibromyalgia and my spine looks like a toddler built it," I wisecracked, but it worked.
We talked about his new album "Sammy Hagar and Friends" due out Sept. 13. He duets "Margaritaville" with Toby Keith, whom he befriended on Toby's frequent trips to Cabo San Lucas and playing at Sammy club there.
It explained why Sammy was there.
We finished our interview with hugs and kisses (I got kissed on the hand when I arrived and on the cheek when I left).
The new tune is good. It's got a great hook and is a lot of fun, a lot like Sammy.
Much later in the evening, long after Toby had left the stage and the last firework explosion echo was long gone, I was wrapping up writing my story when a man walked in with a bunch of paper cups.
They were samples of Toby Keith's brand of Mescal, "Wild Shot."
Thinking, echoes of old days with Sammy, I snagged a glass. It was like the most tart lemonade you'll ever have but it was good, and a perfect way to end a memorable day.
And, it gave me some great stories to tell.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Stress triggers long-fogotten problems
Sandi's years as a newspaper reporter return to haunt her
Doctors have told me most of my life to keep my stress level low.
I have sincerely tried. I've taken classes, I know all the tricks to calm myself.
Sometimes our best efforts are not enough.
Anyone who chooses to be a news reporter of any kind must realize early that when disasters happen, regular assignments go out the window, or in some cases, gone with the wind.
I was fortunate for years. I wrote about movies, music, movie stars. The funerals I covered and obituaries I wrote were for celebrities. I traveled a lot and wrote about the fun things I did.
Those times were forcibly removed at 9:02 a.m. April 19, 1995 when the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building was destroyed in a terrorist bombing. The blast from that truck of explosives left a huge disaster area and people lost their lives in other buildings besides the federal one. Still, everyone's heart stopped when we realized the day care center in the federal building was hit and children were among the dead and wounded.
You may recall the photograph of a fireman carrying the body of a little girl. I saw that photo the day it was taken.
I made it all the way home before I broke down in tears, repeating "She had on yellow socks."
Because I write fast and describe scenes well, I talked to victims and first responders. I wrote about the secondary disasters -- the cancellation of major events, the implosion of companies who lost their revenue streams.
Everyone worked 12 to 18 hours a day. We ate catered food at our desks, we wrote feature stories about each casualty, putting a face on each person who died. We all cried as we wrote story after story.
My friends had a 10 month old grandson in the day care center. He was identified by DNA with two other babies. I wrote his feature story and it is still the hardest story I ever wrote.
The bombing was the birth of "The Oklahoma Standard." When one of us is hurt, all of us hurt and we will help anyone who needs it until they don't any more.
I saw a therapist after the bombing. All the reporters did. She taught me so much and helped me cope with stress of all kinds.
We will skip the 1999 tornado for now because I was so sick by then I don't remember much about covering it.
I am well enough now that when the tornadoes that ripped through the Oklahoma City metro area Sunday and Monday I was asked to work for the paper, and thinking I could handle it, I said yes.
I didn't take the first hint I was going to have problems. When I heard children had died, I started crying.
I was covering volunteer efforts from several angles. So many people came to the disaster areas with supplies and to volunteer they had to be turned away. Supply depots were created and there are lists for people to sign to volunteer in the next few weeks and months. I interviewed a man who has volunteered for one charity for 30 years and works with assembly lines to build and fill boxes.
I wrote two stories Friday and turned them in. I thought I was doing great until I went to dinner with a friend Saturday night.
I could not remember a single story I had written that week. I drew a complete blank. It was like I had never done them. I started stressing out, my energy level tanked and I rushed home to look them up on my computer. One story had run, one ran Sunday and two more were waiting to go.
I spent the next day in my pajamas, in bed, watching anything but news. I secretly hope the paper won't call with more projects for a few days, but if they do, I'll say "Yes," because the Oklahoma Standard lives in me too.
I would like to thank every single person who works at Creaky Joints for letting me write about this now, and all of you who clicked "Like" when you found out I was safe. You cannot imagine what that did for me. I owe all of you a hug.
Doctors have told me most of my life to keep my stress level low.
I have sincerely tried. I've taken classes, I know all the tricks to calm myself.
Sometimes our best efforts are not enough.
Anyone who chooses to be a news reporter of any kind must realize early that when disasters happen, regular assignments go out the window, or in some cases, gone with the wind.
I was fortunate for years. I wrote about movies, music, movie stars. The funerals I covered and obituaries I wrote were for celebrities. I traveled a lot and wrote about the fun things I did.
Those times were forcibly removed at 9:02 a.m. April 19, 1995 when the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building was destroyed in a terrorist bombing. The blast from that truck of explosives left a huge disaster area and people lost their lives in other buildings besides the federal one. Still, everyone's heart stopped when we realized the day care center in the federal building was hit and children were among the dead and wounded.
You may recall the photograph of a fireman carrying the body of a little girl. I saw that photo the day it was taken.
I made it all the way home before I broke down in tears, repeating "She had on yellow socks."
Because I write fast and describe scenes well, I talked to victims and first responders. I wrote about the secondary disasters -- the cancellation of major events, the implosion of companies who lost their revenue streams.
Everyone worked 12 to 18 hours a day. We ate catered food at our desks, we wrote feature stories about each casualty, putting a face on each person who died. We all cried as we wrote story after story.
My friends had a 10 month old grandson in the day care center. He was identified by DNA with two other babies. I wrote his feature story and it is still the hardest story I ever wrote.
The bombing was the birth of "The Oklahoma Standard." When one of us is hurt, all of us hurt and we will help anyone who needs it until they don't any more.
I saw a therapist after the bombing. All the reporters did. She taught me so much and helped me cope with stress of all kinds.
We will skip the 1999 tornado for now because I was so sick by then I don't remember much about covering it.
I am well enough now that when the tornadoes that ripped through the Oklahoma City metro area Sunday and Monday I was asked to work for the paper, and thinking I could handle it, I said yes.
I didn't take the first hint I was going to have problems. When I heard children had died, I started crying.
I was covering volunteer efforts from several angles. So many people came to the disaster areas with supplies and to volunteer they had to be turned away. Supply depots were created and there are lists for people to sign to volunteer in the next few weeks and months. I interviewed a man who has volunteered for one charity for 30 years and works with assembly lines to build and fill boxes.
I wrote two stories Friday and turned them in. I thought I was doing great until I went to dinner with a friend Saturday night.
I could not remember a single story I had written that week. I drew a complete blank. It was like I had never done them. I started stressing out, my energy level tanked and I rushed home to look them up on my computer. One story had run, one ran Sunday and two more were waiting to go.
I spent the next day in my pajamas, in bed, watching anything but news. I secretly hope the paper won't call with more projects for a few days, but if they do, I'll say "Yes," because the Oklahoma Standard lives in me too.
I would like to thank every single person who works at Creaky Joints for letting me write about this now, and all of you who clicked "Like" when you found out I was safe. You cannot imagine what that did for me. I owe all of you a hug.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
The Boxer
Sandi's Going Down Swinging
Dealing with any autoimmune disorder is a war.
There are skirmishes, offensives, victories and defeats.
The key is to keep fighting.
I've always told anyone who felt sorry for me because I have RA and all the other problems that I am fighting this as hard as I can and I'll be going down swinging.
It's just sometimes it's so hard to make that fist.
I heard "The Boxer," by Simon and Garfunkle a few days ago and it brought me to tears. Maybe it was I've been feeling really ratty lately but most likely it was the news I got at my last doctor's visit, but the story of the man who is beaten over and over got to me.
I was crying and it took me several days to pinpoint why that song would set me off.
My appointment was one of the fast ones I have. I'm there long enough to get the prescriptions for concoction of pain meds I take to control that particular monster.
When my doctor's assistant came in, I asked her to tell me why I wasn't on any medicines that dealt specifically with the battle in my bones.
I knew I can't have NSAIDS any more because my kidney levels have been off for years, but the next bit of information was a sucker punch.
The PA looked through my charts and told me I couldn't have any more drugs that would suppress my immune system. Its suppressing itself enough on its own. Anything else would be dangerous.
So, I find myself out of drugs to take.
Since 1974 I have been taking one thing or another to fight the disease but I guess my battle is over until the next new drugs hit the market.
What this means is for the first time in decades, I'm in the ring alone, fighting hand to hand against my disease, and I'm afraid.
It's why I started to cry when I heard:
"In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he caries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him out
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
'I am leaving, I am leaving'
But the fighter still remains."
And I remain, and I will go down swinging.
Dealing with any autoimmune disorder is a war.
There are skirmishes, offensives, victories and defeats.
The key is to keep fighting.
I've always told anyone who felt sorry for me because I have RA and all the other problems that I am fighting this as hard as I can and I'll be going down swinging.
It's just sometimes it's so hard to make that fist.
I heard "The Boxer," by Simon and Garfunkle a few days ago and it brought me to tears. Maybe it was I've been feeling really ratty lately but most likely it was the news I got at my last doctor's visit, but the story of the man who is beaten over and over got to me.
I was crying and it took me several days to pinpoint why that song would set me off.
My appointment was one of the fast ones I have. I'm there long enough to get the prescriptions for concoction of pain meds I take to control that particular monster.
When my doctor's assistant came in, I asked her to tell me why I wasn't on any medicines that dealt specifically with the battle in my bones.
I knew I can't have NSAIDS any more because my kidney levels have been off for years, but the next bit of information was a sucker punch.
The PA looked through my charts and told me I couldn't have any more drugs that would suppress my immune system. Its suppressing itself enough on its own. Anything else would be dangerous.
So, I find myself out of drugs to take.
Since 1974 I have been taking one thing or another to fight the disease but I guess my battle is over until the next new drugs hit the market.
What this means is for the first time in decades, I'm in the ring alone, fighting hand to hand against my disease, and I'm afraid.
It's why I started to cry when I heard:
"In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he caries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him out
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
'I am leaving, I am leaving'
But the fighter still remains."
And I remain, and I will go down swinging.
On the Road Again
Sandi tries to make her road a smooth one
BEFORE:
I'm traveling this week.
For the first time since 2006 I'm boarding a plane and leaving.
I am going on a four-day travel junket with other travel writers to spend a few days in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
I am both excited to leave town and terrified I'm not strong enough to make this trip.
I'll be writing several stories for the travel section of my newspaper and I've got two weeks after I return to get them done.
I thought it might be interesting to write what I hope happens before I leave and finish this blog with how it actually went.
So -- I have my airline tickets and know where my seats are. I change planes in Atlanta. Tomorrow I should know which gates I'll need and that will decide if I need to hitch a ride on a cart or stroll through the airport.
I've decided not to check a bag but travel light. This is a no brainer because 20 years of packing made me a pro. Still, I read all the new rules the TSA provided and have a good idea what's going and what's staying.
I am going to do the U.S. Post Office's "If It Fits, It Ships" to send home all the stuff I get (press kits, souvenirs, stuff like that) to keep my load light.
I am starting a steroid dose pack before I leave so I will feel the best I can while I'm gone.
I have tried to pick activities on the trip that won't tax me too much, but I do realize I will be on my feet a lot more than I have been. (Reason One for dose pack).
I picked a short trip. I have two days of activities and then I'm out.
I'm taking a cane. I don't want to but don't want to take any chances.
AFTER
A week ago I was in Virginia and a friend took me to a discount store to buy a suitcase for all the things I bought or was given.
Yes, I'm back.
On the whole, the trip was a big success. Traveling was easy. My gates at the Atlanta airport were close enough that I could easily walk between them.
I think the dose pack was the key. It kept me flexible enough I was able to walk up and down stairs, tour museums and wineries with little trouble and keep up with everyone else.
I made it home by noon Sunday and took it easy. I could tell when the steroids wore off because the pain increased, I discovered some muscle strain in my shoulder and I was really tired.
I bought the suitcase because we were given many things that I didn't want to leave in a box for the post office. I wound up packing all the souvenirs and gifts in a new hard-sided suitcases and wrapped all the fragile things in my clothes.
I carried on the suitcase full of interviews, notes, press kits and brochures. I could replace everything but those.
I was really lucky that I flew the day before the FAA furloughed their employees and there were slowdowns in the air.
It's good to know I can keep up with healthy people. One of the writers ran a half marathon while she was there. Other writers took bicycle tours though neighborhoods, hiked and stayed out late at a music festival while I found myself at mountaintop wineries, marveling at the beautiful pastoral scenes and the mountains showing their spring colors, and hitting my hotel room right after dinner.
Still, I believe I can do more of these, which makes me happy. I love to travel and now I know I can do it within reason and good planning.
The agency who books these tours has invited me to come on other trips with them.
I believe I will.
BEFORE:
I'm traveling this week.
For the first time since 2006 I'm boarding a plane and leaving.
I am going on a four-day travel junket with other travel writers to spend a few days in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
I am both excited to leave town and terrified I'm not strong enough to make this trip.
I'll be writing several stories for the travel section of my newspaper and I've got two weeks after I return to get them done.
I thought it might be interesting to write what I hope happens before I leave and finish this blog with how it actually went.
So -- I have my airline tickets and know where my seats are. I change planes in Atlanta. Tomorrow I should know which gates I'll need and that will decide if I need to hitch a ride on a cart or stroll through the airport.
I've decided not to check a bag but travel light. This is a no brainer because 20 years of packing made me a pro. Still, I read all the new rules the TSA provided and have a good idea what's going and what's staying.
I am going to do the U.S. Post Office's "If It Fits, It Ships" to send home all the stuff I get (press kits, souvenirs, stuff like that) to keep my load light.
I am starting a steroid dose pack before I leave so I will feel the best I can while I'm gone.
I have tried to pick activities on the trip that won't tax me too much, but I do realize I will be on my feet a lot more than I have been. (Reason One for dose pack).
I picked a short trip. I have two days of activities and then I'm out.
I'm taking a cane. I don't want to but don't want to take any chances.
AFTER
A week ago I was in Virginia and a friend took me to a discount store to buy a suitcase for all the things I bought or was given.
Yes, I'm back.
On the whole, the trip was a big success. Traveling was easy. My gates at the Atlanta airport were close enough that I could easily walk between them.
I think the dose pack was the key. It kept me flexible enough I was able to walk up and down stairs, tour museums and wineries with little trouble and keep up with everyone else.
I made it home by noon Sunday and took it easy. I could tell when the steroids wore off because the pain increased, I discovered some muscle strain in my shoulder and I was really tired.
I bought the suitcase because we were given many things that I didn't want to leave in a box for the post office. I wound up packing all the souvenirs and gifts in a new hard-sided suitcases and wrapped all the fragile things in my clothes.
I carried on the suitcase full of interviews, notes, press kits and brochures. I could replace everything but those.
I was really lucky that I flew the day before the FAA furloughed their employees and there were slowdowns in the air.
It's good to know I can keep up with healthy people. One of the writers ran a half marathon while she was there. Other writers took bicycle tours though neighborhoods, hiked and stayed out late at a music festival while I found myself at mountaintop wineries, marveling at the beautiful pastoral scenes and the mountains showing their spring colors, and hitting my hotel room right after dinner.
Still, I believe I can do more of these, which makes me happy. I love to travel and now I know I can do it within reason and good planning.
The agency who books these tours has invited me to come on other trips with them.
I believe I will.
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